


from what I've tasted of desire

by TheEagleGirl



Series: tumblr prompts [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Prompt Collections, Some Angst to Come, mentions of animal death in ch 3, prompts I got on tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: “Take me there,” she whispers, just for him. “Take me to Winterfell.”~Jonsa prompts I got on tumblr!
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: tumblr prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569355
Comments: 44
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be a collection of prompts I got on tumblr. If you'd like to give me a prompt, send it to me there @ladystarks!
> 
> From @ofthedirewolves: book jonsa - how they take back winterfell

The snow is falling slowly when Jon comes back for her.

He’s battle-worn and bloody, but there is snow melting in his hair. He looks like a _Stark_ , and there is no one else in the world she would have take their home back from the Boltons.

He kneels wordlessly before her. The blood on his knees stains the ground red, and his eyes meet hers, tired but bright. The joy that Sansa feels strangling her throat is right there in his face.

“We have retaken Winterfell,” he announces. His breath puffs out against the cold, and Sansa fights back a shiver. “We have taken it in your name, Lady Sansa of House Stark.”

She reaches forward, and puts her hand--bare and cold--against his cheek. She’d pulled off her gloves the moment she saw him cresting the hill and she knew the battle was won.

“Take me there,” she whispers, just for him. “Take me to Winterfell.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, she’d wanted to believe it so badly, that the pain in her past could be tucked away so easily--that a new name and a dark dye could hide the pain she’d felt before she came here. Once, Alayne’s little life had been enough to push down the past, to be a girl with no cursed title and no stolen lands and no dead family. She’s thought that perhaps, if she was good and quiet, she could disappear into this life forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @palominojacoby on tumblr prompted: Book jonsa - jon goes to the vale and meets alayne, who is trying to forget about being sansa and trying to suppress her warg abilities.

_I am Alayne_ , she had told Father, just before the siege began. _Only Alayne_. 

Once, she’d wanted to believe it so badly, that the pain in her past could be tucked away so easily--that a new name and a dark dye could hide the pain she’d felt before she came here. Once, Alayne’s little life had been enough to push down the past, to be a girl with no cursed title and no stolen lands and no dead family. She’s thought that perhaps, if she was good and quiet, she could disappear into this life forever. 

It is a pitiful siege on the part of the Vale--they last barely a week before the sight of dragonwings reach their gates. Alayne watches, breathless, when the green dragon lands, almost too big for the courtyard. Father is trembling besides her, his green eyes flashing with a deep fear before they smooth over. 

_I am Alayne_ , she had told him, before the siege began and every day since. She’d told him that not one hour past, when the men had shouted from the battlements that there were dragons on the horizon. 

_I am Alayne,_ she reminds herself now, as she watches the figure climb down the dragon. Father’s hand tightens around her shoulder.

The stranger pulls down the hood of his cloak when he lands on his feet, and the breath is knocked out of Alayne’s chest. 

When she breathes back in, it is Sansa who cries out, “Jon!”

Littlefinger’s fingers are hard on her arm, but Sansa shakes him off. They meet in the middle, in an embrace so desperate that she starts to cry big, heaving sobs into his chest.

He is saying her name: “Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,” and it was such a lie she told herself, that she could ever forget who she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed this ficlet, please consider leaving kudos/a comment! They feed my dark, empty soul <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya had clung to him, sobbing noisily into Jon’s doublet, but he’d been strangely detached, as if he’d been floating in the godswood pools, ears submerged and eyes closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of animal death. very heavy angst. 
> 
> prompt from @jeynewesterling on tumblr: Jonsa - If Jon had gone to KL insted of the Wall

He feels her perched at the edge of the room before she actually approaches, hesitant and quiet. His back is to her, but he knows who it is immediately. For a few long moments, all is silent. Jon wonders if this horrible silence will be all she offers, all that will ever pass between them again.

She breaks it in the end. Her voice is shaking when she says, “Jon, I-I’m so sorry about Ghost.”

Jon closes his eyes. His fists are clenched. He cannot look at her. He will not speak with her.

Their father had sent Ghost’s body back to Winterfell that morning. Arya had clung to him, sobbing noisily into Jon’s doublet, but he’d been strangely detached, as if he’d been floating in the godswood pools, ears submerged and eyes closed. There had been pain when Ghost died, sharp and staggering, but everything has been far away since.

“I brought you supper,” Sansa offers, and he can hear the tray clink against stone as she places it on the flagstones. She might be crying, but Jon doesn’t care to see it–not when she could have saved Ghost with a word. Not when she defended that unworthy prat against Arya, took his side, damned an innocent direwolf to punishment. Jon and Ghost hadn’t even been there, but the queen demanded blood for blood, and no one had wanted to kill Sansa’s lovely, well-behaved pet.

“Jon,” she tries again, and he can hear her take a step closer to him. _Stop_ , he wants to say, _haven’t you done enough?_

“Won’t you say something?” she whispers, sniffling. “Please, Jon, I swear I didn’t...I wish I could have...”

Wordlessly, he opens his eyes and turns to face her. There’s a spark of anger in his chest, the most he’s felt at all since yesterday. 

Her face is streaked with tears, falling silently. Jon can feel them on his face as well, and wonders if he looks as anguished as she does. 

He wants to scream. He wants to yell at her until she leaves. He wants to break something--he wants to go _home,_ and crawl into bed and never come out. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, once more, before fleeing. 

It’s not enough. It will never be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuse for why an innocuous prompt like this should spawn a fic where Ghost dies, but isn't that what would have happened if Jon went to KL? anyways I'm broken after writing this :(((((
> 
> Please comment/leave kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She will be found eventually. Petyr will know she’s missing soon, and he will send men after her, men with hounds that will sniff her out, no matter how much snow falls to mask her scent. He will find her and force her to marry him, and then he will take Winterfell and her father’s seat, and Sansa will not be able to stop him, no matter how far she runs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @vivilove-jonsa on tumblr asked: Book Jonsa prompt-Sansa meets Ghost again 💕
> 
> This got waaaay longer than i thought it would, so enjoy!

Sansa begins shivering in earnest after dark falls, but she cannot stop moving--either Petyr’s army or the Boltons will find her if she does, and Sansa isn’t sure which outcome she fears more. The cold seems to sink into her bones, frozen and deadly, but she forces herself to keep rushing forward. She’s only a few miles outside Winterfell, and though she’d never been one for the wolfswood the way Arya or her brothers had been, Sansa remembers where they’d kept a hunting cabin. If only she can get there for the night, hide until the battle between the Vale and Winterfell is over--

She will be found eventually. Petyr will know she’s missing soon, and he will send men after her, men with hounds that will sniff her out, no matter how much snow falls to mask her scent. He will find her and force her to marry him, and then he will take Winterfell and her father’s seat, and Sansa will not be able to stop him, no matter how far she runs. 

She shivers more violently, feels under her furs for the handle of the knife she’d taken from the man who’d fallen asleep watching her. She won’t let it come to that. She won’t be a pawn for Winterfell, never again. She will die first. 

Her bravery, so strong when she’d slipped from the tent, wavers. She might die anyway, in this horrible cold. 

Her teeth are chattering so loudly that at first Sansa does not hear the _snap_ of branches behind her until the sound is almost upon her. She trips over the cold, wet ground, her caught between wildly scrambling for the knife and stopping the fall. 

Her wrist throbs from the impact, and she’s so frozen that Sansa almost gives up right there. She could never win against Petyr, or Joffrey, or any man that wanted her. This escape was doomed from the start, wasn’t it? No use in fighting.

_You’re Ned Stark’s daughter,_ a voice tells her, very much like Arya’s. _You can’t stop fighting._

The noise is right behind her now. Quiet, _breathing_. Sansa braces her elbow on the ground, grips the knife, and rolls to face the danger.

Her heart stutters in her chest. It’s so dark that at first she can barely distinguish the white fur from the snowy trees, but then the wolf is _above her,_ towering and terrifying. For a moment, Sansa thinks she’s about to be die.

She sees his eyes then, red and glinting in the dark. An albino direwolf. 

“Ghost,” she breathes. The knife slips from her fingers. “Ghost, it’s _you._ ”

Gods, will he remember her? It’s been so long, years since she’s seen him, since she’s lost Lady, but Sansa cannot hold her terror inside her any longer. 

She feels the hot rasp of his tongue against her face. Lady used to lick her as well, and Sansa begins to cry with the memory of it. She buries her fingers in his fur, presses her face into the warmth of his ruff. It’s only when Ghost gets off of her--and he’s almost as tall as her--and she straightens that she realizes what his being here _means_.

“Is Jon here?” she whispers, as if he can give her an answer. “Ghost, is that why you’re here? Can you take me to him?”

The direwolf’s red eyes give nothing away, and he pants silently. Sansa’s strength saps away--she almost sits down in the cold again, when he turns and stalks forward, in the direction she’d been running towards before.

She must be following him for an hour, frozen and chattering, before she spots the first of the tents. It’s dark, and they have lit no cookfires that she can see, so her eyes must adjust before she can see the rows and rows of tents, the men silently standing guard. She can barely make out a Manderly mermaid flag, the Umber giant, the Mormont bear. Her knees nearly buckle when she _realizes_ what this is.

A Northern Army, hidden in the woods. Waiting for the Boltons and the Knights of the Vale to fight one another before sweeping in and taking Winterfell back. Taking her _home_ back. 

Ghost nudges her hand with his nose. Sansa can hear the murmur of men realizing she is there, the guards coming to attention and approaching. It is only the presence of Ghost that keeps them from seizing her, but a voice rises from the back. She can’t make out the words, only the rumble of it--something familiar in sound--before a figure marches forward through the bodies.

“My Lord,” a man says, “the intruder appeared out of the woods. The wolf--”

“It’s no intruder,” the voice says, and it’s _Jon’s_ voice, grown up and deep. She cannot see his face well, but he is taller than she remembers, and already the tears threaten to slide down her cold face. He is within reach in moments, and Sansa’s head is buried in his chest, her fingers grasping at his back. 

It’s a long moment before he speaks, voice choked. She can feel the vibration of his words through his chest. “If you’ll bring me a light, Lord Umber, you’ll see that Sansa Stark has come back to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this update, please leave a comment letting me know! <3

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, please let me know in the comments!


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